Ghost Of The House

A ghost in the house, or a house's ghost? In the end, there may be no difference.



The Ghost Of The House

by Donna Munro

The ghost of the house
turns what it doesn’t like
to face the wall;
a machine-embroidered city logo
snipped from an old uniform,
real butterfly wings
attached to a paper body
in a plastic frame.
It pulls down the nose of the
balsa plane, hopeful shrine
to a dead friend.
It topples the tiny ninja fighters
hatched from the laundromat vending machine,
valiant defenders of the right to wear a costume,
to leap.

The ghost of the house loves the light
of certain windows, and allows
the experience of that light to expand
beyond the normal limits of time
and pleasure. It attract birds,
especially cardinals,
but also house finches and crows.
Everything that flies or flickers
the ghost invites inside,
small bats, hornets with hanging legs,
lost sparrows.
The ghost of the house
sleepy with sweetness,
crawls among blossoms

until snow with its many lives
comes wheeling in.

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